My trunk had been packed and strapped since sunrise, and before the ship reached the pier, I had said “good-by” to everyone on board and was waiting impatiently at the gang-way. I was the only passenger to leave, and no cargo was unloaded nor taken on. She was waiting only for the agent of the company to confer with Captain Leeds, and while these men were conversing on the bridge, and the hawser was being drawn on board, the custom-house officers, much to my disquiet, began to search my trunk. I had nothing with me which was dutiable, but my grandfather’s presentation sword was hidden in the trunk and its presence there and prospective use would be difficult to explain. It was accordingly with a feeling of satisfaction that I noticed on a building on the end of the pier the sign of our consulate and the American flag, and that a young man, evidently an American, was hurrying from it toward the ship. But as it turned out I had no need of his services, for I had concealed the sword so cleverly by burying each end of it in one of my long cavalry boots, that the official failed to find it.
I had locked my trunk again and was waving final farewells to those on the Panama, when the young man from the consulate began suddenly to race down the pier, shouting as he came.
The gang-way had been drawn up, and the steamer was under way, churning the water as she swung slowly seaward, but she was still within easy speaking distance of the pierhead.
The young man rushed through the crowd, jostling the native Indians and negro soldiers, and shrieked at the departing vessel.
“Stop!” he screamed, “stop! stop her!”
He recognized Captain Leeds on the bridge, and, running along the pierhead until he was just below it, waved wildly at him.
“Where’s my freight?” he cried. “My freight! You haven’t put off my freight.”
Captain Leeds folded his arms comfortably upon the rail, and regarded the young man calmly and with an expression of amusement.
“Where are my sewing-machines?” the young man demanded. “Where are the sewing-machines invoiced me by this steamer?”
“Sewing-machines, Mr. Aiken?” the Captain answered. “I left your sewing-machines in New Orleans.”